


Married With Children

by PetrificusSomewhatus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Potter Children - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrificusSomewhatus/pseuds/PetrificusSomewhatus
Summary: A short one shot in honor of Harry's fortieth birthday. In my opinion Harry's ideal birthday at that age would be extremely underwhelming to an outsider but Harry always did seem to defy the public's expectations.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83
Collections: HMS Harmony Discord Writing Fest - Harry's 40th Birthday





	Married With Children

**Author's Note:**

> I've been going through a bit of writer's block/malaise these days but I pushed through it to provide Harry a bit of well deserved domestic happiness for his fortieth. Hope you enjoy.

As he listened to the Assistant to the Liason in charge of Goblin Relations drone on he shot a surreptitious glance at his watch. It was barely mid-day but it seemed to be moving at a glacial pace.

He knew the meeting was meant to end in ten minutes and he knew that he had an easy excuse to bugger off immediately at the scheduled end time. He’d scheduled the remainder of the day off and everyone in the wizarding world knew it was his fortieth birthday today…the _Daily Prophet_ had been covering the _momentous event_ for the last sodding week for Merlin’s sake. He knew the torture would be ending in ten minutes. He knew it but he couldn’t _feel_ it.

Mercifully, finally, the Hermione Potter modified _Tempus_ alarm spell sounded, signaling the end to his suffering. He’d packed all of his things already in anticipation of this moment and now all he had to muddle through were the expected handshakes and goodbyes. There were a few wide eyed meeting participants that he’d never met and he would have felt bad if he hadn’t taken a few seconds to greet them kindly. He was eternally grateful for King’s advice twenty years ago when he was being particularly salty about his admirers.

_I don’t need you in Wizengamot sessions debating policies or supporting me in the Prophet. Let me take care of the politics while you do your best and try to be kind to the people who admire you. That’s all they want and that’s all I ask._

King had asked for _slightly_ more than that over the years but not much. Harry always made an appearance at the annual commemoration of the final victory and he dutifully attended various Ministry events throughout the year as part of his position in the Auror department. But that was part of the job he signed up for and those events had become infinitely more pleasant once he finally pulled his head out of his arse and started taking Hermione as his date. Their initially platonic outings quickly morphed into proper _I’m going to have a good time with my best friend and then get to spend the rest of the evening shagging her_ kind of occasions and the pair had never looked back. It had been brilliant.

He’d particularly enjoyed one particular development that seemed to be happening more and more frequently as she ascended to heights within the Ministry rarely broached by muggleborns; when _he_ was _her_ escort for events _she_ was invited to. There was nothing he enjoyed more than introducing himself as Hermione’s husband. The shagging afterward was always excellent as well.

Another ten minutes later he was headed to said Minister’s office for his clandestine escape.

“Hello, _Harry_. The Minister has been expecting you,” Rolanda Finnigan-Vane informed as she undressed him with her eyes _again._ Twenty one year olds had no right being that self assured and lascivious. She’d truly inherited the worst traits of her parents. He idly wondered if King had hired her strictly to annoy him.

“Your meeting ended ten minutes ago. What took you so long?” Kingsley greeted.

“There were a few new faces at the meeting today,” Harry informed.

“Ahhh…were they able to mumble out a Happy Birthday at least?” he asked through his laugh.

“They were American so they were a bit more subdued. And yes, they wished me Happy Birthday. They said the banner in the Atrium was a bit hard to miss,” he scowled as he grabbed the nearby floo powder.

Kingsley didn’t look remorseful in the slightest, in fact he looked quite giddy at Harry’s reaction. “It’s all about making allowances, Harry. For example, right now I’m supposed to be insisting that you use the public floo so everyone can sing Happy Birthday to you before you leave for the day.”

Harry fought the urge to vomit, opting instead to scowl further. This seemed only to amuse Kingsley even more. He didn’t know why he bothered any more as the scowling hadn’t worked for years…decades in fact. It only seemed to egg his family and friends on more.

“But because I am your friend and because you let me hang the banner I’m graciously allowing you to use my floo so you can escape and enjoy the rest of the day in peace.”

“Thanks, King,” he replied honestly.

“You’re welcome. And I’ve barred all departments from sending any owls to you or Hermione until Monday. Enjoy the weekend and Happy Birthday.”

* * *

He found his oldest daughter waiting for him on the other side of the floo.

“Mum said I couldn’t go flying until you got home. Can I go flying?” she asked. It was all said rather quickly.

“Well hello to you too, Rosalind. Thank you for such a lovely and heartwarming welcome home,” he praised falsely.

“Hello Dad,” she replied with an annoyed roll of her eyes.

“Where are Mum and Em?” he asked.

“Shopping,” she replied impatiently. “So can I?”

“Sure,” he replied, causing his daughter to begin sprinting toward the door before abruptly stopping.

“Can you come practice against me? I’ve only got a month before tryouts.”

Harry subconsciously began thinking of all the tasks he had to accomplish preventing him from joining his daughter and realized the list was mercifully…magnificently…blank. He had nothing to do except fly with his daughter.

“Give me five minutes,” he informed, drawing a whoop of triumph from Rosalind.

He quickly changed and began walking with his daughter towards the clearing. They’d both learned long ago not to disobey Hermione’s instruction of not flying too close to the house.

“You know most second years don’t make the team, Rosie,” he commented casually. The girl had been obsessed with making the team before she’d even received her Hogwarts letter and Harry had spent the summer doing his best to manage her expectations.

“You played in first year,” she replied with a scoff.

“Well that was just lucky,” he said dismissively.

“I know what you are doing,” she answered with a smug tone that sounded remarkably like her mother, “you’re worried I’ve gotten my hopes up.”

“Well…yes,” he answered dumbly. Despite the fact that she had his eyes, hair, and love of Quidditch his daughter could mimic her mother seemingly at will.

“Our Seeker graduated last year,” she stated automatically.

“I know this. You’ve mentioned it pretty much every day this summer,” he replied casually. “That still doesn’t guarantee you a spot.”

He fought the urge to laugh at the pointed glare he received from his daughter before she continued. “The incoming Captain knows next year is going to be a wash so she is going to be favoring younger students to build for the future.”

Harry had spent twenty years interrogating suspects and his brain was finely tuned to picking up on odd bits of offered information. He stopped walking.

“How on earth would you know that?” he asked.

Rosalind refused to look him in the eye as she continued walking. “I…uhh… _may_ have overheard a meeting between the outgoing and incoming captains discussing strategy for the next year.”

“Interesting that they didn’t see you there,” Harry observed.

“I may have also cast a disillusionment charm on myself and listened in,” his daughter offered hesitantly.

“Why were you learning disillusionment charms in first year?” he asked in his most admonishing tone.

“Because you didn’t let me take the cloak to Hogwarts?” she offered feebly.

He stopped walking once again and desperately fought the urge to laugh. Laughing when he was supposed to be scolding his children always set Hermione off.

“I promise I only studied it because I was bored by the normal classes and it seemed like a useful spell to learn.”

She was gathering steam with her nonsense excuse now. Harry waited for her to get it out of her system before responding.

“And it’s kind of your fault because you always say it’s important to know how to protect myself against threats,” she concluded authoritatively.

“And what threat did the two captains pose?” he asked.

“Well, I thought it would be a good idea to try it out one or two times around other people. You know…to practice,” she lied.

Despite himself Harry snorted out a laugh before once again schooling his features.

“Rosalind,” he said in his most disappointed tone. He idly thought that Hermione would be proud of his effort.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it!” she spit out rapidly. “I saw them sitting in a corner of the common room with a bunch of parchments. I knew they were talking about Quidditch and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Just don’t do it again, Rosie. It isn’t right to take advantage like that.”

“I won’t,” she answered in relief. “I promise.”

Upon reaching the clearing Harry pulled out the box of practice snitches. “Same rules as normal?” he asked. “I catch two to your one?”

Rosalind looked very serious. “No. No more special rules.”

“One to one?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“One to one,” she repeated, “and don’t let me win. Try your hardest.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied as he prepared to release the ten snitches in the air. “Are you sure you don’t want to make it two to one?”

“Yes,” she answered determinedly.

“You’re absolutely sure? Youngest Seeker in a century here,” he sing songed, drawing a laugh from his daughter.

“Just release them, Dad,” she replied as she took off from the ground. “Oh!” she exclaimed, suddenly stopping and turning back to look at him. “Happy Birthday.”

* * *

Three hours and ten victorious rounds later he was assaulted by a small, chestnut haired missile as he walked into his kitchen.

“Happy Birthday Daddy!” his six year old daughter exclaimed excitedly before quickly scrunching her face in disgust. “You’re all sweaty and you stink!”

“Quidditch will do that to you,” he observed wryly as he leaned in and gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek, doing his best to avoid contact. She hated it when he was sweaty. From Quidditch at least.

“So that’s why Rosalind stormed by a few minutes ago without a word,” she noted. “I take it you played against her?”

He nodded. “No special rules.”

Hermione whistled in acknowledgement. “How bad was it?” she asked hesitantly.

Harry laughed. “Not as bad as you would think. She’s really made a lot of progress this summer. I won every round but a few were really close. She stormed off after I promised her a rematch tomorrow morning. You aren’t going to believe this but your daughter has a bit of a competitive streak and hates losing. Can’t imagine where she inherited that.”

“From Mummy!” Emilia supplied happily as if the answer was obvious.

“Right in one,” Harry said.

“I’m not that bad,” Hermione replied. “Not anymore at least.”

He suddenly realized that there were several pots floating in the air being stirred and another on the stove. “What’s going on?” he inquired.

“We’re cooking supper for your birthday!” Emilia answered once again.

“I thought we were going out to eat?” Harry asked. Hermione had never excelled at cooking due to her busy schedule and the insistent house elf that muttered angrily when anyone used _his_ kitchen beyond making tea or cereal.

“Em insisted,” Hermione supplied. “Kreacher is pouting somewhere upstairs so I would suggest avoiding him.”

“Smells good,” Harry lied. It most definitely did not smell good. _Interesting and slightly burned_ were the kindest terms he could come up with to adequately describe the assault to his senses but he kept that to himself. It smelled edible at least.

Emilia’s beaming smile at his compliment was more than enough to take his mind off the meal he had planned on ordering at his favorite muggle restaurant. Perhaps they could go there tomorrow night.

“It’s going to be ready soon so go take a shower. Em’s right. You stink,” Hermione playfully ordered.

* * *

After the (thankfully) edible meal had been finished presents were quickly floated in front of Harry to open. Rosalind had gifted him a broom polishing kit which he suspected she would be absconding with in a few days for her own use. He made a note to save her the trouble and offer its services after their practice session tomorrow.

“Open mine now!” Emilia pleaded desperately as she bounced in her seat and thrust her gift forward.

He grabbed the gift from her hands and furiously ripped it open, drawing a giggle from his youngest. Harry immediately recognized it as the least expensive wand holster sold by Ollivander.

“I needed a new holster!” he exclaimed brightly and falsely.

“I paid for it with my own allowance!” Emilia proudly proclaimed.

“There’s no way you’ll be able to-“

“Rosalind,” Hermione interrupted forcefully, “can you get Dad’s birthday cake and some plates?”

“But-“

“ _Now_ ,” Hermione repeated. Rosalind finally got the hint and sheepishly left the room.

“Do you like it?” Emilia asked, her tone a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Harry pretended to inspect the gift. He turned it over in his hands as if assessing it from every angle and then gave it a pull to test its durability. He would be laughed out of the office if he showed up for work with it on his arm in its current state. It was made of the cheapest material, absurdly flimsy and missing all of the enchantments required of his Auror position.

“It’s perfect,” he enthused as he quickly removed the holster on his arm and replaced it with his daughter’s gift.

“I love it, Em,” he declared honestly, drawing a magnificent grin the likes of which only a child could manage.

* * *

Several hours later he groaned as he got in bed….the earlier physical activity with his daughter finally catching up with his forty year old body. He remembered he’d agreed to do it all over again in a few hours and mentally shuddered.

“Everything all right old timer?” asked Hermione in amusement, never looking up from the report she was reading.

Harry ignored the jibe and pulled the parchment from her hand before placing it on a bedside table.

“Hey!” she protested.

“No working this weekend by order of the Minister. It’s my birthday.”

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled falsely as she turned and nestled into his side before beginning to lazily trace circles on his chest. “So what are you going to do about Emilia’s gift? You know she’ll spot it if you don’t start wearing it.”

He wrapped his arm around Hermione and pulled her closer. “Well the way I see it I have two options: I can apply a few transfiguration charms to my old wand holster to make it look like Em’s gift or I can add strengthening charms and all the required departmental enhancements to her’s. Option one would take about thirty seconds to manage and will last indefinitely while option two will take up most of my weekend and I’ll have to repeat the enchantments every month or so.”

“Hmm…so which were you thinking,” Hermione asked.

The answer was obvious. “Definitely option two.”

Hermione chuckled before she climbed on top of him and straddled his waist.

“You are so predictable,” she stated fondly as she removed his glasses and placed them to the side.

He placed his hands on her hips and smiled as she pulled off the jumper she had worn to bed. She was so beautiful.

“Happy Birthday, Harry.”

He was going to be so sore in the morning.


End file.
